I’ve written columns about my kids, parents, grandparents, aunt, grandson, coaches, teachers and friends.
I have not written much about my two brothers, Bill and Bob.
Sure, there is plenty to write. But I have always respected their privacy. I’ve left them alone and out of the BND .
Last month, we spent our annual week together at brother Bill’s home on Peak’s Island, Maine, in Casco Bay near Portland.
It was a cold week in Maine. Winter starts in October there. We spent a lot of time indoors, trading memories, insults and laughs. We talked a lot about our parents. We talked about our kids. We talked about our lives. Success and regrets. Hopes and dreams. Quests and compromises.
It was on this trip to Maine last month that I sat back and realized that geography separates us, but blood unites us, and the three Mackin Boys are much, much more alike than we are different.
I am the youngest of three sons of the late Betty and Bud Mackin of East St. Louis. Bill is the oldest son. He lives half of the year in Maine and half in Florida. Bob, the middle son, lives on the Indiana side near Louisville. I’m the baby. I’ve stayed here in our roots of East St. Louis and Belleville.